


Three Sheets to the Wind and Straight On Till Morning

by beeeinyourbonnet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill, intentional fallacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold finds out that Gaston hurt Belle. He is not happy. (mentions of rape. no actual violence/non-con in the fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Sheets to the Wind and Straight On Till Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Intentional Fallacy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/621892) by [beeeinyourbonnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet). 



> Anonymous prompted: Kind of a dark IF prompt: Belle actually does sleep with Gaston, but not because she changed her mind-Gaston forced her to. Gold somehow finds out.
> 
> Anonymous has created a monster. This will be two parts. I regret nothing, not even the title. >>
> 
> Also, there is no depiction of the rape, just mentions, but I thought I should warn anyway. Anon, I hope you like it <3\. This is a what-if for Intentional Fallacy.

Dr. Gold was feeling good. He was reasonably certain that Belle preferred him to her stupid boyfriend and that he had all but gotten her off by rubbing her feet, and he was now rewarding himself with a cigar and a glass of bourbon. His bad leg was stretched out across the ottoman while he lounged on the couch, watching _The Maltese Falcon_.

When he first heard the booms from the other room, he thought there was a car backfiring. It took thirty seconds of continuous noise for him to discern that it was someone knocking on his door. He sat up. The only reason anyone would be pounding on his door at this time of night was because they were coming to kill him, and it sounded like they wouldn’t be letting up.

He’d be damned if he was going to be killed barefoot, so he slipped his feet into his discarded Oxfords while he rolled his sleeves down. On his way to the door, he grabbed his cane, and then his jacket off the coat rack. If he was going to die—which he wasn’t—he was going to do it in style. By the time he grabbed his pistol from the drawer, he was wearing everything but his tie. He reached for the door to throw it open, leveling the gun, but then he hesitated. What if it was Belle? Good things happened in threes—maybe she realized that she couldn’t live another second without him.

That was too good to even be true in his fantasy world, and he shook his head before reaching for the door again. Then, another thought struck him, and he paused. What if it was Belle, but she was in danger? She wouldn’t want him pointing a pistol at her.

“Who is it?”

The banging stopped. Gold and the mystery knocker stood in silence for a few heartbeats, and Gold raised his gun a little higher.

“It’s Jones.”

This did not soothe his paranoia, so he was still wielding the gun when he flung the door open. Jones took one look at him and raised both hands in surrender, so he lowered the gun, but just enough that he wouldn’t hit anything vital if he decided to shoot.

“Is Belle here?” Jones asked.

Gold frowned, letting his arm fall to his side. “No. Why would she be here?”

“Dammit.” Jones stomped and turned around, running a hand through hair that was already stuck up in a few places, likely from where he’d done so before. Despite the near-freezing temperature, he was wearing nothing but a flannel shirt over his t-shirt, as though he’d grabbed the first thing he could and then run.

Even when he was suing him for everything he was worth, Gold had never seen Jones look this disheveled. He felt a horrible prickling sensation along his spine.

“Did you check her apartment?” he asked, his tone bordering on mocking in his attempt to keep it light and worry-free.

“Of course I bloody checked her apartment.” Jones whirled to face him. “She’s not there, she’s not picking up her phone, and we were supposed to meet hours ago.”

“Maybe she’s just standing you up.” This thought gave Gold more pleasure than he was willing to admit.

“Oh for god’s sake, we’re not dating, you bastard.”

“Then why are you here?” Gold folded his hands on his cane, letting the gun dangle.

Jones let out a strangled sigh. “Something—happened. We were supposed to meet after, but then she disappeared.”

His patience was running thin. If Jones was worried, then he was worried, too, but there didn’t seem to be anything to worry about. “What happened, exactly?”

Jones ran a hand through his hair again, gripping a chunk at the nape of his neck. “She was trying to dump Gaston, because he was getting pushy.”

Gaston. Of course. Even if Belle hadn’t indicated his interest in sports and exercise, Gold would have pictured him as a behemoth of a man—anyone in competition with him always accentuated his littleness, in his mind. Now, that image made it difficult for him to breathe.

“Stay here,” he said, turning to go back inside.

“This is serious, Gold!” Jones called, but Gold ignored him. He just needed to get his coat and gloves, in case they found Belle in an alley somewhere and she needed warmth.

“Calm down, Jones,” he grumbled, limping back out as fast as he could. He had his effects draped over his gun arm. “We’ll take my car.”

“No, we’re taking my car,” Jones said, leading the way with his two good legs.

“No, because if you get pulled over, we’ll waste time while they write you a ticket. I won’t get pulled over.”

“Fine, whatever. You have your gun still?”

Gold waved it at him over the hood of the car.

“Good. I’ve got this.” Jones pulled a switchblade out of his sleeve. “We should start at her apartment. See if she’s gone back.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

 

* * *

 

She had not gone back. Her car wasn’t there, and the only result Jones got by pounding on the door was a loud yell from the neighbors.

“Stop,” Gold said, holding out his hand.

“Fuck.” Jones let his arm drop.

“We have to go inside.” Gold reached into his pocket for the lock-picking kit he kept there at all times—just in case.

“We can’t. She’s not home.” Jones waved his hand at the door. “That’s why she’s not answering.”

“Keep watch.” Gold knelt to be eye level with the knob, and then went to work.

“What are you—” Jones looked down at him, and then shifted so that he was blocking him from the street. Gold grunted his thanks.

Since the apartment was so old and run down, the locks took no time at all to pick, and soon they were inside. Gold tried not to feel guilty about being here—they were doing this for Belle’s safety.

“After you,” he said, consoling himself by having Jones break the threshold first.

The younger man had no compunctions, and waltzed right in. Gold refused to consider the implications of this, and instead followed him, looking for signs of struggle.

“Well, there are no pools of blood,” he said, pausing in the kitchen. “That’s promising, at least.”

“Not worried about blood,” Jones said, sweeping through the apartment to a closed door that must have led to Belle’s bedroom. He threw it open, and Gold winced at the familiarity of the action. For a full minute, he stood in the doorway, surveying the room. Then, he stepped back, beckoning Gold.

“What?”

“I know what happened.”

Gold stepped up behind him, ignoring the voice in his mind screaming that this was the worst invasion of Belle’s privacy ever. It was for her health. It was for her safety. He was breaking and entering for her.

“What happened?” he asked, because he could see nothing to give him any hints. The bed was stripped and there was a robe lying on the floor. It looked like she’d left in a hurry after waking up, and hadn’t managed to remake the bed.

“The plan failed.”

This meant nothing to Gold, so he waited for Jones to continue. When he didn’t, he waved a hand to remind him to.

“I was her call from the hospital. After we talked, she was supposed to leave here, and meet me at Granny’s. The bed was supposed to stay in tact.” He gestured to the comforter on the floor, the dent in the pillow.

For a few seconds, his meaning didn’t register. It was only after Jones turned to stare at him that Gold thought he understood. Blood pounded in his ears, and he felt like a train was roaring through his head at full speed. He gripped his cane.

“What if you were mistaken?” he asked, voice sounding feeble and weak even to his own ears. “What if she changed her mind.”

“No.” He shook his head. “She said she was coming when she hung up.”

Gold was torn between being glad that she really hadn’t wanted to sleep with her boyfriend, and being horrified at what this meant. He knew one thing, though—that boyfriend was going to regret it.

“Come on. We’re going to find that bastard, and we’re going to kill him.”

“No, we have to find Belle first.”

Gold considered this. If Belle was with Gaston, it was likely they wouldn’t find her—but if he had actually abducted her, then she probably wouldn’t oppose them killing him. If she had left of her own accord, she might not be okay with him putting a bullet in his penis. And then his face.

“Fine. Where do we start?”

Jones ran a hand through his hair, chewing his lip. Gold wished he could be more helpful, but the truth was that Jones knew where she went when she wasn’t with him because he was there with her. After this, Gold was going to rectify that.

“I guess—maybe she’s at the school?”

“She could be in my office.” He was pleased that this was the first place they’d thought of. “I gave her a key last week. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

She was not in his office. They crept along the hallways, keeping their weapons tucked up in their sleeves in case they were surprised by hostages or armed guards. From what Belle and Jones both said about Gaston, he wasn’t smart enough to plan a kidnapping, but Gold’s mind was jumping to the worst, and the fact that he and Jones weren’t fighting just solidified the horrible thoughts.

For the first time, he was glad to have someone on his team, and he was grudgingly glad that it was Jones. While this didn’t ease the thoughts that Jones and Belle wanted to be together, it was helpful to know that someone cared about her as much as he did.

After checking her office, and then the conference room/lounge, they determined that she wasn’t there, and set off to think of somewhere new. They checked the bar she liked, then Granny’s Diner, then her apartment again, with no luck.

They sat in the Cadillac, Gold’s hands on the wheel, watching a man in a mask pick the lock of an apartment on the bottom floor. Everything was hopeless.

“We should stop that, shouldn’t we?” Jones asked, pointing to the robbery in progress.

“Probably.” Gold pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, leaving an anonymous tip. When he had finished, he looked back at Jones. “Did you think that Mrs. Lucas was acting strange at all?”

“You don’t think we should just stand there and intimidate him? I mean, you’ve got a gun, and I look dangerous.”

“The police are on their way. Do you think she knows something?”

“Who, Granny?”

“Mm.”

Jones considered this, still watching the apartment. The man was inside now, and had probably locked the door behind him. Gold knew that the right thing to do was to wait for the police, making sure the man didn’t leave. Graham needed to hurry up.  

“Maybe we should go back,” Jones suggested. “Worth a shot.”

They stayed just long enough to see the squad car pull in before they were racing back to Granny’s. Both men came to some unspoken agreement about their appearance, and without consulting the other, they each slipped on their sunglasses, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night.

“Let me do the talking,” Gold said, getting out of the car.

“No, Granny hates you. You can’t intimidate her into doing what you want.”

Jones had a valid point, but Gold didn’t want to admit this. “I’ve been known to be very persuasive.”

As luck would have it, they didn’t need to decide who would wheedle information out of Granny, because Mary Margaret was walking along the sidewalk carrying a reusable grocery bag. She looked shifty, like she was expecting danger, and yet, when the men slithered up on either side of her, she was still surprised enough to jump.

“Dr. Gold. Hook. I see you’re getting along now. Hello.” She was looking straight forward. Jones slung an arm around her shoulders, and she shifted toward Gold.

“Evening, Miss Blanchard,” Gold said.

She glanced sideways at him, then whipped her head forward again. He was willing to bet that she not only knew where Belle was, but was headed there.

Jones reached up from his perch on her shoulders, stroking some hair back from her face. “Mary Margaret, you’re looking particularly lovely tonight. Girl’s night?”

Mary Margaret flinched away. “Yes. Ruby and I are having a slumber party.”

“Belle is there,” Gold said, watching her. Belle was there, and something was wrong. If it wasn’t, Mary Margaret would not have been so stiff.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Save it, Miss Blanchard. We are going to see her. We are very worried.”

She looked between them, then wilted under their stares. “All right. But just for a minute. She doesn’t want to see men right now—she just got dumped.”

Gold and Jones exchanged looks. Either they had seriously misevaluated the situation, or Belle had lied to her friends. Gold was willing to bet all of his money that he had not misevaluated.

“We just want to offer our condolences, love.” Jones squeezed her to his side before releasing her.

She led them around behind the diner, to the bed and breakfast where the Lucas women lived. From outside the door, Gold could hear muffled whooping, like the women inside were celebrating. Mary Margaret pushed the door open, and was greeted by loud shouts of her name. Gold and Jones exchanged another look, and then took their sunglasses off.

“Mary Margaret, Mary Margaret!” Ruby yelled, and Gold thought she might have been drunk. “We found the tequila!”

“Oh, that’s great, guys,” Mary Margaret set, stepping inside.

Gold wished that he could see around her, but she seemed to be deliberately blocking his view. Maybe she was trying to block him from their view. Jones, however, was not bothered by this, and pushed past her.

“Hook!”

At the sound of Belle’s voice, loud and warbling, Gold felt his knees wobble. She was safe—he could leave now, and just go kill Gaston alone. She wanted to see Jones, not him. She would not be happy to see him.

“Hello, love.” He strode forward, and Mary Margaret followed, leaving Gold unshielded.

It didn’t matter, though. Belle didn’t notice him. Judging by the half-empty tequila bottle and the shot glass clutched in her hand, she was three sheets to the wind already, and Jones was the one with her drunken attention.

“I’ll pour you a shot. Do you have a glass? I know you probably keep one on you somewhere, don’t you? You like to drink, right?” She picked up the bottle and tipped it into her glass.

“I don’t usually keep a shot glass on me, no.” He walked forward, sprawling down next to her. “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

She downed the shot without flinching. “You didn’t call.” She shook her head, then closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I would have heard.”

“Mary Margaret, did you get the brownie mix?” Ruby asked, somehow the more sober of the two.

“Mmhmm.” She lifted the grocery bag. “Ice cream, too. And I picked him up on the way.”

Belle lifted her head from Jones’ shoulder, and looked at Gold for the first time. He raised his hand in a wave, too terrified to move toward her, and all the color drained from her face. She scrambled to her feet, dropping the shot glass into Jones’ lap so she could throw her arms out for balance.

“Belle?” he asked, unsure of whether she was pleased or horrified to see him.

“Oh no,” she whispered, stumbling backwards. “I have to go. I have—things—Ruby’s room—ice cream.” She tripped backwards and everyone lurched forward to catch her. Years of practice allowed him to cross the room to her before anyone else.

“Belle.” His arm hovered just behind her, and she stumbled into it, clutching at his jacket for balance.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut while she shook her head. She let go of him and started to sway toward Jones, and he was prepared to let her until she continued with, “You’re going to hate me.”

He grabbed her hip—not hard enough to keep her there if she really wanted to move, but hard enough to indicate that he wanted her to stay. She tumbled back into him, tilting her pale face toward his.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded like she might have meant to whisper, but couldn’t quite manage it in her state.

Gold looked up Mary Margaret, who was watching with her brow furrowed and lips pressed together.

“Is there somewhere more private?” he asked.

She nodded, pointing down the hallway. “Ruby’s room’s back there. You can’t miss it.”

He expected Belle to protest, but all she did was whisper apologies as he led her to the empty room, and then shut the door behind them. He fumbled around for the light switch, surprised when the light did not illuminate a gaudily decorated room. It seemed that Ruby had more taste than her outfits indicated.

“Dr. Gold, I’m so sorry,” she said, eyes looking full. She plopped onto the edge of the bed, wobbling until he came over and steadied her.

“Raphael,” he corrected, lowering himself next to her.

“No.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t deserve that anymore.”

It felt like his ribcage was crumbling to dust, too old and heavy to stand anymore. He wanted to wrap his arm around Belle, but he was afraid, and he couldn’t decide if it would be for her benefit or for his, so he just kept his arm at his side, hoping it would be a sound enough structure to keep him upright.

“Belle, tell me what’s wrong.”

He wanted to keep his voice gentle, he did, but Belle flinched at the sound anyway. He wanted to flinch, too, because he didn’t want her to answer. He just wanted her to know that he would listen, if she wanted to tell him.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Gold.” She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, and for half a second, he thought he might evaporate. He could smell the tequila on her breath, and he swallowed the urge to lean closer and see if he could smell the lime, too. He felt like his arm was vibrating as he slid it around her, but it didn’t jar Belle.

“So sorry.”

He shivered at the sensation of her voice on his neck. “For what?”

She appeared not to have heard him, continuing to whisper garbled apologies while she shifted around on the bed. Somehow, she kept her face pressed to his neck as she writhed around, ending up with her legs tucked under her and her hands loosely clasped in his lap. He was going to die.

“For what?” he repeated.

Her hands twisted near his knee, and he bit the side of his cheek. One of her pinky fingers found purchase in a pleat, and started trying to loop its way through it.

“I told you we weren’t and I wasn’t going to, and I didn’t want to and I promised I wouldn’t.” Her hands stilled, and she pushed her face toward him like she was trying to burrow into his neck. “I know you have to hate me right now. I deserve it, I’m so sorry.”

He stopped breathing, his entire body ceasing all motion. For a few seconds, his vision swam, and then he remembered to breathe again, and he could feel the raging lecture preparing to rip its way out of his throat, and some rational pin pricked its way through the haze to remind him that if he yelled, he would scare Belle even more, so he needed to calm down.

 He counted to ten in silence, hoping that Belle was too drunk to notice the passage of time in a logical way. When he got his heart rate under control, he realized that his neck was wetter than it had been before, and that Belle’s shoulders were twitching.

“Belle.”

At his growl, Belle just scrunched up tighter, drawing her knees up against his waist. She wasn’t apologizing anymore, but he figured that it was because her mouth was now occupied with breathing through her sobs.

“Belle.”

When she still didn’t respond, he decided that it was time for more force, so as best he could in their position, he braced a hand on either of her shoulders, and then heaved her off of him.

“Belle, look at me,” he said when she tried to recoil away. She paused, turning her red face up to his, tears streaming down her cheeks. He forced himself to meet her gaze, letting one of his hands fall to wrap around her waist in a half-hug.

She started to say that she was sorry again, but his other hand came around to press over her lips. Her eyes widened, and he had the fleeting thought that he had just touched Belle’s face without even considering it beforehand.

“Stop. This is not your fault, Belle. Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Since he had already touched Belle’s lips, he figured there was no harm in letting his thumb stray to brush the tears off her cheek. “If you didn’t—” He closed his mouth, considering his next words. Since Belle hadn’t labeled anything yet, he didn’t want to be the first, so he needed to be careful.

“Didn’t what?” she asked, muffled by his fingers. He didn’t move them.

“If you didn’t want to, you shouldn’t have had to.” He hoped that would suffice. “If you didn’t—consent—then he—”

He closed his mouth again, watching her eyes like they were going to start speaking. He couldn’t continue—at least, not without asking if she had consented, and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she had to consider it. As much as he hated to think anything terrible could happen to Belle, he had to believe that it had.

Belle watched him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. It felt like the eye contact was regulating their bodies to each other—his own breathing slowed as hers did, and he could have sworn they blinked in tandem. When Belle’s tears petered out, he let his hand drop from her mouth.

They watched each other. For once in his life, Gold had exhausted his store of words.

“I need new sheets.”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Tonight?”

“I burned mine. The foyer has a nice fireplace.”

That would explain why her bed was stripped. Was that all she had done before leaving her apartment? “Do you only have one set of sheets?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and for a second, she looked so normal that he almost laughed. “Raphael, do you really think I can afford more than one set of sheets?”

His delight at being called Raphael again almost made him forget that he should find that an odd statement, but his face knew that it should be pressing its lips together. “They’re sheets, Belle. It’s not like they’re expensive. You can get a good set for fifty easily.”

Belle let out a snorting laugh, head tipping forward to rest against his. He suspected it was more because she was drunk than because she wanted to be closer to him, but it made his breath catch nonetheless. “That’s at least a week’s worth of groceries. You think I’m going to spend it on sheets?”

If she would just come live with him, this would not be a problem. He was going to have to start planting the idea in her head without her noticing.

“So where are you going to sleep tonight?”

She looked around, and then shrugged. “I figured I’d pass out on the floor after the rest of the tequila.”

“Well.” He didn’t like that answer, but he did like that it would provide the perfect opening for getting her to his house, where he would just casually be keeping her for the rest of forever. “There’s no reason for you to sleep on a floor when I’ve got a guest room with perfectly good sheets.”

He started to stand up, keeping one hand on her shoulder to indicate that she should follow, and one on his cane. She stumbled up and into him.

“A guest room?”

“Mm. Come on, then.” He held his arm out to her, and when she stared at it, he felt a chill flit up his throat. What was he doing? He couldn’t force her to come home with him, no matter how chaste. She’d been forced enough tonight. “Only if you want to, that is,” he amended, hoping it would help.

She gripped his forearm like a bike handle, which wasn’t the way he intended, but it was better than nothing. “Your guest room, right?”

He nodded. He wished it was his bedroom, but he knew better. “The sheets are very nice.”

“It sounds much better than the floor.” She squeezed his arm, and then tripped over her toes on her way out.


End file.
